Swig and Sing
by Casting Moonlight
Summary: When a party shuts down early and there is still high-grade in supply. Jazz decides to play a game with the few mechs still in the rec room. It will be fun!... sort of. Rating may go up. ON HIATUS.


**Title:** Swig and Swing  
**Pairing/Characters: **Jazz/Prowl Hound/Mirage; Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Blaster, Bluestreak, Perceptor, Cliff-jumper, and Bumblebee  
**Verse: **G1  
**Words: **1261  
**Warnings: **High-grade  
**Summary: **A party gets quiet but a game begins between close comrades. High-grade being a main factor of the game the questions turn serious very quickly and secrets will be said.  
**Disclaimer:** Do not own anything.  
**Notes: **This was a bunny from the Transformers Bunny Farm. The prompt is as follows:

_Late one evening in the common room, some of the Autobots start playing a little game: you ask one person a question. That person has to take a sip/swig/gulp of high grade then answer the question as truthfully as they can (you can't refuse to answer a question, but you can be vague or choose not to elaborate, so long as you give an answer.) The person who answered then asks someone else a question, and the game goes on. It starts out harmless enough, but as the night wears on and the drink starts to cloud thoughts and loosen tongues, some things are brought out into the open that (for various reasons) were better off staying buried. Drama/hilarity/perversion/wangst/WTF-nes s/what-have-you ensues._

* * *

Every orn or so there would be a party on the Ark. It was a well known event that appeared to be randomly set up by their omnipresent Third in Command despite the fact that each one seemed to occur after the crew had lost a battle against the Decepticons -or he felt his mate was being overworked and Jazz decides that he deserves an early recharge- and not one of the Autobots would have it any other way.

These particular parties were enjoyed by all the ranks of the crew, especially the Officers. Optimus Prime often attended for a short while to speak with any and all of his soldiers spark to spark and was sincerely grateful when they asked about his cycle. Ratchet would come down to get overcharged and then Wheeljack would grab him by his chevron and drag him off to his quarters with a cheery flash of his helm finials. Ironhide of course would show up, grab a few cubes, speak to a few of the mechs nearby or at his table, drink to his limit, and then with an experienced and practiced gait he would retreat to his quarters for the night.

Then there were the rarer nights when Prowl would arrive in the rec room, grab a cube and sit down with Jazz and whoever his drinking buddy was with no intention other than to listen and spend time with his mate, quietly content to be silent unless asked a question. It didn't happen often and Jazz always looked much happier when it did.

The atmosphere was superb; Blaster doing what his programming was designed to do before the war made him drop his career in music and creating the best sort of tune on a sound system salvaged from the Golden Age, Sideswipe keeping a steady stream of high-grade coming from a mysterious source behind one of the cargo containers with Cliff-jumper showing an amazing amount of skill in the department of distributing high-grade to anyone still slightly sober with an empty cube and swiping cubes from mechs who looked to overcharged to stand, and even the Special Operations mechs were relaxing -albeit they were all huddled around two tables pushed together and glaring at any who wasn't Optimus Prime or Jazz but that was relaxed for a bunch of overcharged assassins and spies.

Most of the time the parties lasted for joors but this cycle had been a curious one. The party had been enjoyed as an opening act and then abandoned for the comforts of close friends in personal quarters or the warm embraces of a lover to complete the night. Jazz didn't mind that; he in fact encouraged his subordinates to go back to their quarters and safely overcharge there in the privacy and comradeship of their fellow Special Operations agents.

Now there were only a few lingering within the rec room. Sideswipe was emptying out the high-grade dispenser of its fluid and filling up a smashing amount of cubes. Sunstreaker was at a table downing another cube with Bluestreak who appeared to be a bit more sober than Jazz would have believed the light weight to be; right as Bluestreak's elbow missed the table and caused him to smash his helm into the tabletop. Jazz rose an optic ridge and then snickered when Bluestreak started making loud clicking 'snores'. He had spoken to soon!

Blaster was looking longingly at the thirty plus cubes of high-grade continuously being drained from the high-grade dispenser and Jazz sent a databurst to his friend. He got a bright grin and a playlist was downloaded onto the sound system as Blaster bee-lined for the stack of cubes with a single intent and Cliff-jumper handed him two, looking close to amused with a very slight sway when he should be standing straight; apparently the distributing mech had snuck a cube or two himself.

Bumblebee and Mirage, the only two Special Operations agents to remain in the rec room, were joined by Mirage's mechfriend Hound at a table, smiling, sipping their high-grade, and speaking in low tones together. Jazz watched a red form rise upwards in the corner of his optic and found Perceptor stumbling up, halfway in recharge, from where he had previously been passed out on the custom made couch and Bumblebee was quick to steer the scientist over to the table, patting his back sympathetically.

Jazz chuckled quietly and then felt a gentle weight on his shoulder. Looking to the side he saw a hand was responsible for the pressure and then a different sort of pressure stole away the attention, his vision filled with the indigo hue of his lover's optics twinkling with mischief. Jazz smiled into the kiss and pulled away when Prowl did.

"What's the occasion?" He joked, leaning his elbow on the table with a sensual smile. "Usually you wait until we get back to our quarters before we... turn on our cooling fans." He winked at Prowl who suddenly seemed embarrassed with his out-of-character behavior in a public setting. Chuckling softly, Jazz leaned toward Prowl and nuzzled against his neck.

Leaning back, he stood up and looked around at the mechs in the room thoughtfully. The night was still young and maybe there was time for a game to be played! Jazz smirked, just imagining what could unfold tonight.

"Will you just explain the slagging game, Jazz?" Sunstreaker growled, curling his fingers around his cube tightly.

Jazz grinned, setting the last of the forty-two cubes on the two tables pushed together by his agents. Sitting down beside his lover and Mirage to his right, he nodded and put his hands up by way of submission to the grumpy golden warrior. He had announced with a careful tone and volume to the mechs that he had an idea to pass the time away. With absolutely nothing better to do and Prowl in a splendidly good mood, everyone had converged on the two tables to play.

"Alright, so before I explain the rules for this game, I want ya all to know ya leave at any time. This ain't a game ya play unless ya trust your who's here." Jazz said seriously, eyeing each one of the mechs carefully, brushing against the bond he had with Prowl questioningly and was glad, for more than one reason, when Prowl smiled both over the bond and physically. Prowl trusted everyone here, even after drinking a cube or two! That feeling seemed to be mutual for the rest of the mechs gathered as each remained seated and waiting.

"So this game has a few names but the rules are the same all around." Jazz said, leaning forward with a grin. "Someone asks another mech a question, right? That person has to take a gulp, yes a gulp, of high-grade and then answer the question as truthful as you can. You can't refuse, but you can refuse to elaborate. Luckily all of us have only drunk a cube or three... I think." He said, pausing as he looked at Bluestreak who was staring at the tabletop dazedly. Jazz snickered as Sideswipe poked a doorwing and Bluestreak immediately snapped to complete, sober attention. "Then that person asks another mech a question. That's it."

He watched curious/uneasy/interested glances being exchanged and grabbed a cube, lifting it with a large smile, "Read to play, mechs?"

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So this is a fic game for any reader here. It is both a story and a question game for them and us! It will be a bit different however. This is not a crack fic or humorous(except maybe a few questions) and will be serious and possibly dark themed. You can pose a question in review or private message; though I will control who will ask it and who it will be asked of (if not specified or if there are to many JazzQuestions or SunstreakerQuestions).

I may bring in a new mech(s) in future chapters.

((((**SLIGHT CHANCE **And seeing that each question is going to be accompanined by a gulp of high-grade, probably more than one night and 'player' changes on said different nights.))))

Please understand that not all questions will be used depending on the amount of questions I recieve and thank you very much! I hope this fic will work out. ^^


End file.
